


one more look at the ghost

by submergedmemory



Series: Love Is Like Music [2]
Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/submergedmemory/pseuds/submergedmemory
Summary: “You look just like your father,” people say to Nick all the time, and Nick can get where they come from.
Relationships: Glenn Close and Nicholas Close, Glenn Close and Nick Close
Series: Love Is Like Music [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708477
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	one more look at the ghost

—

“You look just like your father,” people say to Nick all the time, and Nick can get where they come from.

The cupid’s bow mouth that curves into a crooked smile when somebody lands a well timed quip.

The wild tangle of hair that rebels and gets even more wild and more tangled at even the barest whisper of a mention of a comb.

The light skin with the coppery-gold undertone that deepens into a tawny tan when exposed to the sun too long, and that reddens into a brilliant scarlet when exposed to even the briefest of discomfiture.

The teardrop curved eyes that aren’t quite brown but aren’t quite hazel, eyes that Nick’s gaze skitters past every time he looks in a mirror, eyes that his father hides behind aviators because they remind him too much of his own deadbeat dad.

“You look just like your father,” people say to Nick all the time, and Nick can get where they come from.

—

“You’re just like your mother,” his father says to Nick, one quiet and solemn Sunday morning, as Nick helps him make his way back to bed after finding him sprawled out in the kitchen, a halfway empty bottle of Jack lying on the floor, the garbage disposal screeching furiously angry as it tries and fails to grind up roses into red and yellow pulp.

His father stares at Nick like he’s a ghost, like he might start crying, stares at the teardrop curved eyes that are slightly less hazel and slightly more brown, the sharp, high angles of Nick’s chin and cheeks and jaw, the wild tangle of hair that hides the bright, brilliant streak of white, the full lips that twist into a faint frown as Nick huffs an unamused laugh and mutters an exasperated jab at the prone figure before him.

“You’re just like your mother,” his father says to Nick, soft and quiet and sad, as sleep and exhaustion eventually claim him as their own.

Nick doesn’t get it.

—

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhh happy belated mother’s day i guess??? anyway i'm whotaughtyougrammar on tumblr.


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